Black Old Sun
by thebondgirl
Summary: Charlie's worst fear becomes a reality, and one thing matters above all else: no matter what happens, he must protect his family. Not an FBI case related fic. Please read Author's notes before beginning.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Charlie's worst fear becomes a reality, and one thing matters above all else: no matter what happens, he must protect his family. Not an FBI case related fic. Please read Author's notes before beginning.

**A/N:** ok, first off, before you guys read any further, you need to know that i came up with the idea for this fic a loooong time before snowysleigh posted "to be brothers", and before serialgal posted "a walk on the other side", so i'm really not copying their idea - this fic was an original when i first started writing it (as far as i know), and i can promise all those who've read those other two fics that my story is going at this thing in a completely different way. so, with that said, i hope that you all enjoy this first chapter, and don't forget to review -- i promise to update at least once a week... possibly more often, if school allows, and if the reviews keep coming :)

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**Numb3rs: Black Old Sun**

**By: thebondgirl**

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**Chapter 1**

The page fell from nerveless fingers and swooped gracefully down to the floor before coming to a rest by his feet, looking so innocent now that he couldn't make out the words typed across it. It didn't matter though - the words may have been long, and stretched out to last a few paragraphs, but the main point behind the letter was simple and earth shattering enough for him to memorize it after only reading it through once. He stared blankly at his now empty hand for a long moment, still picturing the page that had been there, still seeing the fancy letterhead used only by a doctor who had enough money, time, and arrogance to burn in order to fashion himself some customary stationary with which to write to his patients, as though its fanciness might inspire confidence and optimism where there was none to be had.

After all, when you're sent a letter confirming your worst fears, does it really make a difference in the impact of that confirmation if it's addressed to you from a doctor with a bolded, gold-lined printed name and title?

_Yes, the fifty dollar-per-page letterhead speaks the truth: I am the infamous James Porter, M.D... Oh, and by the way, you have leukemia. _

Suddenly his lungs constricted, unable or perhaps unwilling to take in another breath and the room spun wildly, making him collapse backwards into his chair, which was thankfully in the right place to catch him. Through his blurry vision, he could see both of his hands trembling violently and knew that he had to force himself to be calm; otherwise he'd die of shock long before his disease could ever kill him.

If he could breathe, he would have laughed bitterly at that, and wondered idly if that was such a bad thing. After all, could he really handle the pain that was to come? Could he really hold on to hope while he became the second person in the Eppes family to slowly waste away like this?

_'Stop it,'_ he thought angrily to himself, roughly shaking his head. _'You _will not_ start thinking like that. Sure, Dr. Porter's letter said that the leukemia was far enough along, but that doesn't mean it's hopeless, so get a grip, _right now

And just as suddenly as it started, his inability to breathe abated, and he dragged several ragged breaths into his lungs, leaning forward to rest his head on his knees as he forced himself to relax and just keep on breathing normally.

_In... out... Deep breath... exhale..._

When at last his head had cleared and his shaking had dissipated into merely the occasional shiver, he sat back up and stared pointedly at the page that still lay on the floor in front of him, contemplating just how unlikely it had been for him to have found out about this, this soon. Really, he'd barely stopped to wonder about all those extra bruises he didn't remember getting that kept showing up all over his arms and legs, nor had he paid much attention to how tired he always seemed to be, no matter how long he slept, and the fact that biking to school had become a chore, rather than a joy. What had finally made him turn to his physician had been when he'd gotten a nasty paper cut on the palm of his hand, and, though it hadn't even been incredibly deep, the cut had refused to stop bleeding for almost an hour.

That had been two weeks ago. He'd gone in the next day, explained his symptoms for documentation, and nervously sat through the collection of his blood for tests. And now here he was with a solid, undeniable diagnosis: he had a common type of cancer, and it was killing him. The one thing that offered him some sort of reassurance was the fact that his particular case had fallen under the cancer that Dr. Porter had called _acute myelogenous leukemia_, or AML for short; the good part about that was that if for once in his life he could be like everyone else, he would have a sixty percent chance of going into remission, and a forty percent chance of being cured all together. Obviously he would have felt much better with a higher chance of being cured but for now, he would settle for the simple possibility that he could at least make it through this first bout, and live to fight the next one, should it come.

He sighed outwardly, rubbing his eyes in a vain attempt to ward off the now familiar exhaustion as his mind unwittingly did what it did best: it began to plan, organize, hypothesize, and suggest solutions. The first and most obvious problem to tackle would be settling on a form of treatment. As described in the letter, he had several options he could choose from and though he definitely was in no state to be delving into details, he already knew that he would only take the treatment plan that allowed him to remain as an 'outpatient', away from the sterile hospital rooms that he was terrified of being confined to. The next issue that came up, following closely behind treatment, was his teaching schedule. He didn't need statistics to tell him that no matter what the treatment, chances were that the side-effects would make him pretty sick all on their own, and he knew that he would be left with no choice but to cut back on classes taught per day, per week, and probably end up putting a stop to them all together until he went into remission.

_'Now _there's_ a conversation with Millie that I'm not looking forward to,'_ he thought with a sigh, knowing that once he told her, it was quite possible word would spread like wild fire across campus so that mountains of unwanted attention could rain down upon him. It wasn't that he wouldn't appreciate his colleagues' or students' concern - it was that he would give pretty much anything not to be treated differently like he knew he would, to be treated like... well, like he was dying. And if he knew some of his students as well as he thought he did, they might even be tempted to drop by the house to check up on him, a well-meaning gesture that would serve only to increase the stress being put on his family...

The thought of his family stopped him cold, and he felt himself begin to hyperventilate again. How would they take the news of his diagnosis? He swallowed hard, already knowing the answer: the first step would be silent shock, and then complete denial and demands for a second opinion. Next, there would be tears and hugs, and reassurances that everything would be fine, when really neither of them could know for sure; they would put on a brave face, and say that they would be there for him, assuring him that they would do whatever he needed them to do with a calm composure that would make a mighty attempt to hide the total devastation and horror that was bubbling up inside of them.

He knew this because this had been exactly the way it had gone when Margaret Eppes had first sat Alan and Charlie down in their living room, wearing a sad, comforting smile as she told them that she had been diagnosed with cancer.

Charlie failed to hold in the sob that rushed up his throat as he remembered just how crushingly hard it had been on him, his father, and Don, when he had come home, to hear such news and to know deep down that they were probably fighting a losing battle, that with a prognosis as uncertain as hers, the odds were not in their favor (something that Charlie was very careful _never_ to mention, not even think). It wasn't hard to remember that although he had been the only one to really show it to such extremes, all three Eppes men had suffered during Margaret's decline in health, each dying a little with her with every passing day until finally being left bone-weary and barely in one piece when she'd passed away. He couldn't ever remember crying so often, nor could he remember a time when his father had looked so old and fragile, and his older brother so small and broken, despite the agent's devout attempts at "compartmentalizing his emotions", like he'd been trained to do on the job. How could his family take another blow? How would they be able to make it through all of that pain, all of that heartache and despair, a second time?

Another thought occurred to him then, one that was so solid and certain in his mind that it drowned out all others: he would not allow his family to suffer like that - he would spare them the pain, spare them the anxiety that came before every round of treatment and afterwards, when the report saying that improvement was in the negatives was delivered by an apologetic doctor. He would protect his family from his disease; he would make the stumbling, terrifying journey alone. They would never be allowed to know, never be allowed to fear for him, not if he could help it.

The idea was all it took to set his breathing back to normal, though his heart still raced as he picked up that hated letter and stowed it away deep inside his briefcase and began to pack the rest of his work in preparation for leaving Cal Sci for the night. His infamous brain had once again taken over at this point - already, a plan was forming in his head as a solution to the problem presented by his goal of secrecy and by the time he made it out to his car, he knew exactly what he had to do and that it had to be done by the end of the week, when he was suppose to meet again with Dr. Porter to decide on and begin a treatment. That one piece of certainty and positive action for his family was enough to bring a small, albeit grim smile to his face as he began the long drive home.

_Don, Dad... you'll both be safe from reliving the past, I promise you._

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_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Alan actually choked a little on his coffee, sputtering and coughing for only a moment before he raised shocked eyes to his youngest son, who stood in the entrance to the kitchen, hands tucked casually into his jean pockets. He regarded him silently for a moment, wondering if Charlie was kidding or if maybe he'd simply heard him wrong. He carefully placed his coffee mug down on the table before speaking.

"What'd you say Charlie? Bear with me - I'm still half asleep here," he said apologetically, and watched as Charlie strolled into the kitchen and sat down on the chair beside his.

"I said that I'm moving out, by the end of this week, actually." He said it so matter-of-factly, and Alan's face clearly showed his surprise and curiosity at such a sudden and large decision.

"Not that I object to you deciding not to share a roof with your old man any more, but... why the sudden change of heart? I seem to recall that you wanted so badly to continue living here that you ended up buying the place out from under me," he said, an amused smirk touching his lips. Charlie returned the smile, leaning back in his chair to find a more comfortable position.

"Well, I should probably say that it won't be permanent..."

"I _knew_ there was a catch," Alan said with a chuckle, and the smile remained on Charlie's face as he continued.

"...because I'm simply moving downtown so that I can be closer to the main project-base for this new consulting job I've been hired for." Alan raised a curious brow.

"And that would be?" He received silence and a carefully blank look as an answer, and shook his head, immediately coming to a conclusion. "I guess I should know better by now than to ask about the 'top-secret', NSA half of your life." He thought he saw relief flicker through his son's eyes, but dismissed it as relief at avoiding an uncomfortable interrogation wherein he was legally obligated to remain silent, no matter how badly he wanted to discuss it with someone outside the agency. "So, any idea as to just how long they're going to need you living downtown?" After a moment of consideration, Charlie shook his head.

"No, no set completion date," he said, sounding genuinely regretful, which Alan found odd considering how easy-going he usually was when it came to how long a project of his took. "I do know, however, that it probably won't be anything shorter than a few months, at the very least - maybe longer, depending on certain... variables." He shrugged. "Again, nothing is really certain. It could last much longer than that. It's all riding on how fast everything is worked out, and if there are any... complications, or... dead... ends." Charlie cleared his throat forcefully to keep it from closing up at a sudden surge of emotions that his words had brought on. He used his father's gentle eyes and relaxed posture as a weapon with which to beat down his sudden doubt in his plan, knowing beyond a doubt that he would do anything to keep those eyes gentle rather than grieving, and his posture relaxed rather than shaking with the tension and exhaustion that came with worrying about a loved one.

"Charlie?" He shook his head a little, realizing that he had let his thoughts carry him away for a little too long, and met his father's now slightly concerned expression with a reassuring smile.

"I'm okay Dad, really. I'm... my mind's just getting ahead of my mouth again," he said with a small laugh. He was glad to see Alan's responding smile, using it as fuel to finish his pre-prepared words that he had been rehearsing for almost two days now. "So anyways, the moving people will be stopping by with a U-Haul over the next few days to pick up my stuff from the garage, and the boxes that I've packed up in my room. Everything else is staying here, under your watch."

The eldest Eppes seemed to brighten a little as the prospect of being in charge of everything again sunk in a little more, and Charlie stood then, giving him a clap on the shoulder on his way out of the kitchen.

"I'll be at school late to finish some paperwork, but shouldn't be back any later than eleven tonight," he called over his shoulder as he snagged his satchel and jacket off of the stairs. Alan surprised him by catching up to him at the front door and giving him a long, studying look that made him more than a little nervous.

_Could he have possibly caught on to what's happening? Did I let something slip? Has he seen through my lies so easily already?_

Much to his relief, a moment later his father simply smiled again, if but a little smaller than before, and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Have a good day then - I'll be sure to put aside some dinner for you, for when you get back." Charlie was already halfway out the door, eager to escape now that he was sure his piece of fiction had been accepted fully as the truth.

"Yep, see you tonight." Alan surprised him again with his next words.

"I love you, Charlie." He froze mid-step on his way to his car, and slowly turned to look back at the elderly man standing in the doorway. Those three words were rarely uttered among the three remaining Eppes, not to say that they didn't indeed love each other, because they did. It was just the way they were, living with unspoken affection, only really voicing it when a serious happening inspired them to not leave the sentiment unsaid. They locked eyes as he responded, and again he found himself doubting that he would really be able to get away with his plan, but knew that there was no way he wouldn't at least try.

"Love you too Dad," he said solemnly, and turned away, getting into his car without looking back, and driving off down the street.

--

Watching his youngest son's car speed away, he tried to convince himself that he was being paranoid, that his gut-feeling that was telling him something was seriously wrong with this whole thing was in fact entirely wrong - Charlie was fine, he was _always_ fine. He took care of himself, and Don picked up the slack whenever it was needed... So why was it that Charlie's entire story struck him as false?

Still deep in thought, he turned and went back into the house, wandering back to his seat in the kitchen. Maybe it was the way Charlie's hands had fidgeted throughout his entire explanation for his reason behind moving out, a sure sign that he was nervous, or maybe it was the distant, weary expression he'd taken on when he'd been talking about possible delays in his return due to complications... but he just _knew_, deep down in his very core, that there was something there that Charlie wasn't telling him, something more than a little important...

He sighed deeply, at a loss as to what it could be, and spent an unsuccessful morning trying to convince himself that he really didn't have a reason to be worried about his son.

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With a bone-weary sigh, Charlie lowered himself into his desk chair, barely able to keep his eyes open after a full morning of dedicating all of his limited energy to teaching his classes. Thinking back on the hours of math lectures, he couldn't be entirely sure if he'd actually taken anyone's questions, or if he'd even answered them correctly if he had - he couldn't even remember if he'd given out tests for the period in that second class like he'd planned, never mind if he'd remembered to collect them again afterwards. He ran both hands slowly through his hair as he leaned back, feeling as though he might very well end up sleeping away the afternoon sitting up in that seat, if he were left alone long enough.

A knocking sounded at his office door, and he tossed a low 'come in' to whoever it was, taking a moment longer to pull his energy reserves to the surface before finally turning to face his latest visitor. Seeing that it was Don, and seeing the look of mild concern he bore, Charlie immediately straightened up and plastered a welcoming smile on his face, hoping that it was enough to hide the fear that had been there since he'd opened that letter.

"Hey Don. What can I do for you?" he said lightly, almost succeeding in hiding his exhaustion as he busied himself with the papers on his desk. "If you're here for the formulas used on that last case, I'm afraid I don't have them here with me, but if you want to drop by the house later I could hand them off to you." He heard Don walk closer so that he was standing in front of his desk, but he didn't sit down, and Charlie could feel his eyes studying him carefully. He cleared his suddenly dry throat, and knew pretty much what Don was going to say before he even said it.

"Dad called me this afternoon. Apparently you're moving out of the house?" Charlie was careful to keep his tone nonchalant as he answered, not wanting to give away anything through nerves.

"Temporarily, yes. I should be into my new apartment by the end of this week."

"And this is for a consulting gig, huh?" The skepticism laced in his tone was enough to make the professor weary as he nodded.

"Yeah. The higher-ups figured it'd be easier for me, and more convenient for them, if I were stationed a little closer to everything." He forced a chuckle, hoping that it didn't sound as strained to Don as it did to him. "It's their way of getting me into position to be at their beck and call at all hours of the day, or night."

There was a long pause during which Charlie found the stack of tests that he apparently _had_ remembered to hand out to his class, and he decided that starting in on marking them would be a good way for him to avoid having to look at Don directly as he lied; ever since they were kids, he'd never been able to lie right to Don's face (at least, not very well). Relief began to emerge when the agent finally sat down, breaking some of the intimidation, but that relief was dashed at his next words.

"What aren't you telling us?" Charlie's pen froze in its movements and his heart skipped a few beats, but he quickly regained his composure, schooling his features into a carefully constructed mix of blankness and honest curiosity before looking up.

"What do you mean? You've both already heard the full story - there's nothing else for me to tell, especially since I'm not in the habit of divulging sensitive information to do with the project that I've been hired to complete." Don's expression, one that Charlie recognized from all the interrogations he'd watched, never changed, and his gaze never wavered.

"Well, you told us _a_ story, but something tells me it's not _the_ story. C'mon Charlie, seriously, what's going on?" The younger man steeled his nerves and crossed his arms over his chest, raising a brow teasingly.

"You've been working with the FBI for too long bro - they've got you so you don't trust _anyone_ any more."

"Charlie."

"Don, I'm telling you that there's nothing going on except what I've already said, _seriously_." His tone and features went suddenly firm with that statement, determined. Don blinked in the face of the change, for a moment at a loss for words before feeling a righteous anger beginning to well in his chest. He bit the inside of his cheek before speaking, in an attempt to keep himself from voicing that anger.

"And I'm telling _you_ that I've always been able to tell when you're lying or holding something back," he bit out, his voice a prime example of straining control. "You always end up fidgeting, for one, and two: your eyes always give you away." At the other's continuing firm, silent refusal, Don let a little of that anger seep out. "I don't get why you're being so tight-lipped anyway, _Chuck_, since you don't even have that great a track-record with being able to keep things to yourself. Sooner or later I'll find out anyways, so you might as well save me the wait."

His stinging words only served to solidify Charlie's resolved silence on the matter, for the moment out of anger and hurt rather than a fierce desire to protect, and the mathematician stood slowly, bracing his exhausted body against his desk as he glowered down at his older brother.

"In spite of the fact that I am perfectly capable and at the moment more than willing to keep secrets from you, I will say again that there is _nothing_ about this new project that is either relevant or important for you and Dad to hear that I haven't already related," he said, his tone low and somewhat clogged with emotion. His eyes flashed, and his grip tightened on the desk, though not out of necessity. "Now I have work to do - feel free to show yourself out." Looking up at him, Don noticed vaguely that he seemed a little paler than he had been when he'd first gotten there, that he was leaning a little too much on his desk, and his anger was temporarily put on the backburner as concern itched at his mind.

"Are you -"

"Out - _now_." After a moment, he let out a resigned sigh and stood, about to say goodbye and head for the door when something about Charlie's face caught his eye, a dark spot under each nostril, slowly trickling down towards his upper lip. His mind drew the simple conclusion and he couldn't keep the shock out of his voice.

"Charlie... you're bleeding." His quiet words made Charlie's anger vanish as well, as confusion took its place and his hand began to rise to where he could feel the trickle moving. He touched his fingertips to the skin above his lip and they came away stained red. His eyes widened, and he looked up in alarm.

Without warning, the trickle turned into a gush and blood poured out of his nose and over his lips, dripping steadily off the end of his chin to stain his white shirt and jeans. Charlie was too startled to do anything other than cup both hands under the drips, while Don did a quick scan of the room for a towel, or anything, to stop the bleeding with. When his search came up empty, and blood flow increased, he frantically whipped off his jacket and his own dress shirt, leaving him in a tee shirt as he rushed to Charlie's side, bearing the balled-up material. His stomach rolled a little at how much Charlie had already bled, and how much continued to flow even as he pushed blood-covered hands aside and shoved his shirt up against his nose. The fear in the brown eyes that met his almost equaled his own, which skyrocketed when crimson began to soak through the shirt's fibers and Charlie's face turned a shade whiter as he stumbled, his knees suddenly weak.

"H-here, let's get you sitting down," Don sputtered, barely managing to guide the younger man to his chair before he finally collapsed.

He quickly dropped to a knee in front of him, placing one hand at the back of his brother's head for support as he pressed even harder with the shirt and tilted his head back slightly. A frightened whimper, muffled by the cloth in front of Charlie's mouth made Don's chest tighten ominously, the effect worsening as he caught sight of the shaking hands that were fumbling for something to hold on to for comfort, finally settling on Don's short tee shirt sleeve. The death grip up against his shoulder allowed him to feel the hands' shakes clear through his body, and he forced his own voice to come out steady, despite its overwhelming desire to waver.

"It's okay Charlie, it's... you're fine - you're gonna be fine, just hang in there, okay? I'll call an ambulance and -" A muffled, but emphatic 'no' interrupted him, and he focused back on Charlie's eyes, surprised to find them even more fearful than before. He barely made out the words 'no ambulance - m'fine', and his mouth dropped open, his expression nothing short of incredulous. "Are you _crazy_? We have no idea what's wrong, and... Well, _shit _Charlie, you're losing more blood than you would if you _donated_ the damn stuff to the Red Cross!"

Don stopped to reign his emotions back in and would've run a hand distractedly through his hair, as was habit when under stress, but he wasn't willing to ease the pressure he was putting on the shirt, ridiculously afraid that the man would bleed out if he did. He took a deep breath and tried again.

"We need to get you to a hospital, fast. And frankly, you don't really have a choice in the matter; we're either walking to my car, or I'm _carrying_ you there... or, if you're gonna be really stubborn, we'll wait for you to pass out from blood loss, and _then_ I'll carry you out. Either way, we're going." Charlie's shoulder's sagged in response before he looked at him pleadingly, and made a final muffled request: _'...please don't let 'em see_'. For a moment, Don wasn't sure what he meant, then he heard two voices, obviously belonging to students, chattering away as they passed by the partly closed door outside the office, and he understood - for whatever reason, Charlie didn't want his students to see their departure, probably didn't want them to see him weakened and scared like this.

_Fair enough_, Don thought with a relieved huff. _If that's what it takes to get him out of here, then I'll play along._

"Okay, we're gonna stand up. Here we go..." he said, and quickly but carefully pulled Charlie back to his feet, wrapping a supporting arm around his middle while holding the shirt in place with his other hand.

As one, they moved towards the door, and Don used his foot to nudge it the rest of the way open, leaning out into the hall to check for any passing students. Luckily for them, the coast was blessedly clear and Don pulled the two of them out of the office and he half supported, half dragged his little brother down the hall to the one open elevator, quickly pressing the main floor button with the supporting arm before returning it to its place. Fortunately, Don had parked at the rear of the building, and so they were able to avoid questions at the main security desk as they slipped out the back emergency exit and hurriedly made their way over to, and inside the large SUV. Within a minute they were speeding out of the parking lot, Don maneuvering them through traffic with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel while Charlie did his best to keep up the pressure with the shirt. Every few seconds had the agent glancing over at him, the fact that the fabric was almost entirely sodden with blood only serving to heighten his urgency and weigh down his foot on the gas pedal, his fingers switching on his emergency lights as an afterthought.

They were within sight of the hospital when another glance at his disturbingly silent passenger revealed him to be barely conscious, eyes half-mast in a gray-hued face, hands in his lap, having lost the energy to continue stemming the ongoing nosebleed. Don's heart leapt into his throat, and one hand left the wheel to give Charlie's shoulder a hard shake.

"Hey, stay awake, stay with me there Buddy."

"_Tired..._"

"You can sleep later, right now I need you to stay sharp and focus for me. Can you do that?" he asked anxiously, pushing the pedal the rest of the way to the floor.

"_...kay..._"

Don swallowed hard at the state his brother was in, and could've cried with relief when he was at last pulling into the hospital parking lot, coming to a screeching halt just outside the ER entrance. Leaving the engine running, he jumped out of the car and hurried to the other side, helping the barely conscious man to slide from the passenger seat. He rushed them in through the doors, only for Charlie to go limp and heavy against him the second they got inside. Unprepared for the sudden dead weight, Don couldn't keep them from sinking to the ground, where he clutched Charlie to himself before looking up into the swarming crowd in the waiting room. Apparently, no one had even noticed their entrance, and each person continued about their own crises. He drew in a deep breath, and held the still form in his arms tighter.

"I NEED A DOCTOR OVER HERE!" His bellowed words had the desired effect, and practically everyone froze and stared in his direction, a man and a women, both clad in scrubs and lab coats rushing over to his place on the floor a second later, a nurse trailing behind them with a gurney. Most of the crowd moved on, but some stayed to observe the scene, though Don paid them no attention as he focused on the doctors. "His nose started bleeding about ten minutes ago and... and it just wouldn't stop," he said desperately as one checked pupil dilation with a penlight, and the other monitored his pulse. They quickly got him loaded onto the gurney and moved him in the direction of the examination rooms.

"How long as he been unconscious?" the woman asked when they finally turned into a room and set to work on stemming the blood flow and attaching an IV.

"No more than a minute," he replied, careful not to let the activity dislodge his firm hold of Charlie's free hand. "He passed out just when we were coming into the building." Sparing him no more than a quick nod in acknowledgement, the doctor started barking off orders for tests and fluids, among other things that Don didn't catch as he stared intently at the lax, deathly pale features, transfixed by the unnatural and completely un-Charlie-like stillness that dominated the unconscious man.

The whirlwind of activity and panic from the incident left him so dazed that he hardly put up a fight when a male nurse pulled his hand from its hold, and led him out of the room and over to the nurse's station for him to fill out the necessary paperwork. He did so in a haze, stuck on autopilot all the way until he found himself back in the waiting room, planted in a hard, plastic chair. He sank back into it, eyes wide as he stared down at the bloody smudges on his tee shirt sleeve, where Charlie, in his fear and helplessness of the situation, had grabbed hold of him. Adrenaline left him, and through the following fog, only one thought permeated, echoing loudly in his mind.

_What in the _hell_ just happened?_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** hey all! so here's the scoop: starting this monday coming up, updates will probably just be once a week, since i'll be back at school for second semester and might not have a whole lot of time on my hands.

as for this update right here... i just want you guys to keep in mind that for the purposes of my story, i'm possibly bending what would actually happen in a hospital setting, and although i'm not trying to make Don sound like a total dunce, i need him to be a little clueless to meet my needs here...

so without further ado, read on and enjoy... and for the people who keep putting this fic on alert and not reviewing, if you have time, just drop a quick line and leave a few words to let me know what you thought - reviews fuel the muse :)

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**Chapter 3**

He woke up in stages, first being able to feel the chill in his arms and legs, the scarce warmth in his face, and gown-covered torso. Eventually, the faint murmur of background sound became louder in his ears and he was able to distinguish the sound of a heart monitor off to his right, along with soft voices talking to his left.

At first, he was tempted to simply let his exhaustion drag him back under, but in light of the fact that he wasn't precisely sure where he was or why, he felt it was best to sort things out first, and so proceeded to drag open heavy, uncooperative eyelids. The blur that was the room gradually came into focus, and a young woman in a lab coat leaned into his line of sight, looking to be fresh from medical school.

"Hello Mr. Eppes, I'm Doctor Grennich," she said calmly as she produced a penlight that she shone annoyingly in both of his eyes. His first instinct was to flinch away and squeeze his eyes shut, but he still wanted answers, and felt as though he were tired enough that he would fall back asleep if he closed his eyes for even a second. He started to ask what hospital he was in, but the whispered words came out oddly muffled and Dr. Grennich smiled apologetically before reaching forward and carefully removing the oxygen mask that he hadn't noticed he was wearing. "Sorry - small precaution while you were unconscious. What were you trying to say?" He swallowed and gave a small cough, managing to add a little more volume to his voice this time.

"W-what hospital am I at?" The doctor whispered something to a nurse about retrieving blood test results before busying herself with checking up on the different monitors and IV lines that Charlie now noticed he was attached to.

"You're at St. Michael's, Mr. Eppes."

"Call me Charlie." She gave him another small smile.

"Alright Charlie. Now, do you know why you're here?" He fought for a moment to clear his fuzzy mind, before remembering with startling clarity the nerve-wracking events with Don at Cal Sci, and nodding slowly.

"Yes. I was with my brother, and... I got a nose-bleed... couldn't get it under control." She jotted down something on a chart she held, and spoke without looking up.

"That's right. He brought you in almost an hour ago, and you passed out in the ER waiting room. You lost a fair amount of blood, so we've put you on transfusions, and we're running blood tests to get a better idea of what might've caused -"

"You don't have to bother." His words were met with a questioning stare, and he quickly explained. "I have a pretty good idea what caused it." She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him skeptically.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Leukemia." Grennich blinked in surprise before consulting the pages contained in a folder that had been tucked securely under her arm until then. Her face creased in a slight frown.

"There's nothing about that in the paperwork your brother filled out when you were admitted." He shifted a little uncomfortably, feeling oddly ashamed, even in the presence of a perfect stranger.

"I - uh... I haven't... he doesn't exactly know." She raised a questioning brow.

"How long ago were you diagnosed?"

"A few days ago." The doctor was already making notes and adjustments to his forms, once again talking at the same time.

"Alright then, I'll leave you here for a minute while I go fill him in, then I'll get your physician's name and phone number off you so that I can have a talk with him about this little fiasco."

She was almost to the door before her words really sunk in, and he bolted upright, his vision swimming immediately as he listed to the side, unable to voice his objection through the panic that had seized his lungs. However, the immediate and large increase in the beeps on the heart monitor was enough to get the doctor's attention, and she hurried back to his side, carefully pushing him back up from where he'd been half slumped over the edge of the bed.

"Mr. Eppes... Charlie, I need you to calm down for me. Given your condition, you can't be getting too worked up just yet. Take some deep breaths, alright?" He managed to follow her directions and gradually was able to breathe normally, his heart rate slowing down soon after. While she was silencing the beeping alarm that his small panic attack had caused, he gripped her arm tightly, successfully drawing her attention.

"You can't tell him!" She gave him an incredulous look.

"Charlie, the doctor treating you is kind of on a need-to-know basis here..." He shook his head, cutting her off.

"No, not him - my brother, Don. Please... don't tell him about the leukemia." Confusion showed plainly on her face.

"Given the policy on doctor-patient confidentiality, I'm obligated to comply, but... can I ask _why_ you wouldn't want him to know about this? From all the different studies I've read and participated in, cancer patients benefit from the presence and support of loved ones, most especially close family members." He sighed deeply, staring at his nervously fidgeting fingers for a moment before fixing her with a look of sad determination that took her breath away.

"I'm sure it's written somewhere in those files of yours that there is cancer in our family - it killed our mother." He shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "I don't care what your studies tell you - I _will not_ put my brother, or my father, through that nightmare again." Struck somewhat speechless at his words, she stared into his sad eyes a long moment before once again finding her voice.

"What would you like me to do then? I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the idea of outright lying to someone like this." Charlie visibly relaxed, his gratefulness showing in his every word.

"You won't have to really lie… just let me do the talking."

* * *

"You gotta be kidding me... a mineral deficiency made you bleed like that?"

"Basically, yeah," Charlie said with a shrug. "It really isn't all that uncommon, from what I've been told." Don raised a skeptical brow at the young female doctor who hovered in the room's doorway, who in turn nodded in agreement.

"We've seen several cases like your brother's in the past month especially, with high-stress levels in countless jobs and a decline in healthy living. The dry conditions in and around the city also tend to lend a contributing factor, making nosebleeds like his more common than usual." She paused in her talking to pull a small notepad out of her breast pocket, scribbling something down before tearing the paper off and handing it to Don. "Here are a few mineral supplements that he should take for at least a few weeks, to balance things back out in his system, and keep his red blood cell count high. In the meantime, I would recommend that he stay here for at least a few more hours to finish up transfusions, after which he may return home, but only if he is willing to commit himself to some solid bed rest over the next few days. Your body endured a bit of a shock today, Mr. Eppes - it needs some time to recuperate," she added, when it looked like Charlie might protest.

Don gave the younger man a stern look, reaching over and giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"She's right Charlie. After what happened today, you can't expect to be right back on your feet," he said, waiting until Charlie visibly gave in before returning his hand to his lap. Doctor Grennich cleared her throat lightly, drawing both their gazes back to her.

"If that's all you'll be needing, I have to get back to my rounds. I'll be back later tonight with his discharge papers," she said, turning and walking back towards the door.

Before leaving completely, she cast one last look at Charlie that Don could've sworn was a combination of slightly admiring and maybe a little disapproving, and he frowned in response, glancing back to Charlie whose face was carefully blank. Slight suspicion tugged at the corner of his mind, but he pushed it aside for now; Charlie's current condition was more important than a look that may or may not have passed between his brother and some doctor.

He placed a gentle hand on Charlie's arm to draw his attention.

"So... how're you feeling?" he asked lamely, and was rewarded with a wry grin.

"I've been better..." The grin was suddenly replaced by a worried frown. "Did you call Dad?" Don shook his head.

"Nope - didn't even think to do it for the first hour that these guys had me waiting, and when I finally thought of it, I didn't think it was fair to call the guy up and get him all worried when I couldn't even tell him for sure what was wrong."

"Do you think..." He bit his lip uncertainly before continuing, his voice a little softer. "Could we maybe keep this between us?" Don was a little surprised, to say the least, and let it show.

"Any special reason why?" Charlie gave a half-shrug, not meeting his eyes.

"I suppose for the same reason why you always make me promise not to tell Dad when you get hurt on the job: I just don't want him to worry about me when he doesn't have to." There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence before Don broke it.

"Doesn't he?"

Charlie swore his heart skipped a beat, something he thought the heart monitor should've caught, and he forced himself to stay calm despite his welling unease. The diagnosis that he and Dr. Grennich had worked out before allowing Don to come see him was one that was certainly able to be the cause of at least a smaller version of what Don had witnessed, and the mineral supplements probably would help a little in some respects... he just needed Don to believe it enough that he was willing to not report on it to their father, who would be more than a little suspicious, and likely unwilling to accept such an explanation as 'mineral deficiency'.

_Please Don, don't make this any harder than it already is - don't make me have to lie to his face again..._

"I mean, jeez Chuck... if your job is stressing you out enough that you're getting nosebleeds that are bad enough to land you in the hospital, then I think the man has a good reason to be worried about you." Charlie was barely able to hold in a relieved sigh, instead giving a placating pat on Don's hand.

"It really isn't anything serious Don, honestly; I just need to remember to take better care of myself..." _Lies, lies, lies_. "...especially with the increased programming Millie worked into the Math Department this year. The extra work's just got me a bit out of sorts, that's all." _And more lies._ Charlie gave his internal Jiminy Cricket a good, solid kick, reminding it sternly that the lies were necessary, that the weight on his conscience was more than worth it in this case, a necessary burden. Don studied him for a second before nodding.

"Alright Charlie, you win - this'll be our secret." He was quick to cut off the younger man's thanks. "_But_, only if you promise me that you'll actually take care of yourself from now on, and that you'll take however many supplements, or whatever, for however long you have to so that you get back to one-hundred percent." He held out his hand. "Deal?"

Charlie thought briefly about the treatment that he really was going to be undertaking, way beyond the simplicity of mineral supplements, and had to mentally gag and hog-tie Mr. Cricket as he sidestepped his guilt and gripped Don's hand in a solid handshake.

"Deal."

* * *

By the time Charlie was finally discharged from the hospital he'd been rushed to earlier that evening, it was nearing nine-o'clock at night, and Charlie felt even more exhausted than he'd been when he'd woken up in the hospital bed, if that were possible. He accepted the customary wheelchair ride to down to the main entrance, then did his best not to let on how little energy he actually had as he followed Don to where the hospital staff had parked his SUV for him.

However, as soon as he settled into the suddenly amazingly comfortable passenger seat, he was a goner. He suddenly didn't care about the blood that still stained the clothes he'd retrieved to wear home, nor did he think twice about keeping up the 'just fine' facade with Don; the second his head leant back against the headrest, his eyes were closed and he was fast asleep, breathing deeply and quietly. Smiling slightly, Don carefully leaned over his brother to snag his seatbelt, fastening it securely before clipping his own into place and pulling slowly out of the parking lot.

The drive back from the hospital was considerably slower than the drive there, seeing as Don was obeying traffic laws this time around, and he found himself relieved at the open opportunity to scrutinize his brother's current condition a little more closely. Despite the transfusions that made it safe for him to leave the care of the hospital, Charlie's face was still a disturbing shade of white against the dark frame of his curls, and as a result, Don noticed for the first time just how tired and worn he really looked; the dark circles under his eyes looked more like they'd been caused by fists than by lack of sleep, a permanent furrow wrinkling his brow, and he seemed to be sagging so far down in his seat that he probably wouldn't be able to move quickly even if his life depended on it.

Don couldn't hold back the grimace when his eyes wandered down to the once red, now brown stains that were scattered down the front of Charlie's dress shirt, his mind flashing back to the grisly appearance of those stains when they were fresh. He sighed deeply, tearing his eyes away from the stains, deciding that he'd be far better off focusing all of his attention on the road in front of him; they were so close to making it home in one piece, and the last thing he wanted was to add one more crisis to their day by ending up in a ditch somewhere along the way.

It wasn't long before Don was pulling into the driveway beside Charlie's house, and he flinched slightly when he saw their father's car already parked there as he turned off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt, turning towards his still sleeping passenger. He was once again struck by just how exhausted the younger man appeared, and almost didn't want to wake him up. Unfortunately, they did have to go inside at one point, and Don needed Charlie to be conscious if they had any hopes of keeping this whole incident a secret; it would be anything but subtle if Don ended up carrying him through the front door and up to his bedroom. Reaching over with one hand he unbuckled his seatbelt and gently gripped his shoulder, giving it a slight shake. Charlie responded with a groan, and Don grinned faintly.

"You with me there, Chuck?" Bleary eyes blinked open to stare first at him then out the windshield, only becoming a little more alert as he seemed to register where they were. To his credit, his hand only shook a little as he raised it to open his door, pausing for a second to look back at Don before getting out.

"For the last time: don't call me 'Chuck'," he muttered, easing himself out of his seat to stand and stretch beside the vehicle. "The only reason you got away with it at the hospital was 'cause of blood-loss - I wasn't lucid enough to call you on it." Don's grin widened at that as they walked side by side up to the front door.

"Sure thing bro, whatever you say." He was halfway through opening the door before he sobered and looked back at Charlie who raised a questioning brow. "I'll head in first to keep him distracted for a few minutes while you slip upstairs."

The look on the other's face was blank until Don lowered a pointed glance to his stained shirt, after which he received a quick nod and a grateful look. Taking that as consent to his plan, he led the way inside, immediately heading for the living room where he could hear the quiet crinkling of a newspaper being read, while Charlie slipped up the stairs as quickly and quietly as he could manage.

Trying to appear as casual as possible, Don approached his father who sat in his favorite easy chair, and claimed a spot on the couch beside him, sighing contentedly as he sank into the comfortable cushions. He let his eyes drift closed for a moment, and listened to the newspaper being set aside, waiting for the automatic greeting. He got a question instead.

"What happened?" A tinge of alarm, with a healthy side of confusion made his eyes snap open as he wondered how in the world their father could tell so easily.

_What tipped him off? Did he hear Charlie sneaking upstairs? Did the hospital call here without telling us?_ Just as quickly, he wondered if that would be such a bad thing, questioning for the millionth time whether or not the events of that day should really be kept a secret, even as he plastered on a clueless expression that he relayed to the eldest Eppes.

"What do you mean, 'what happened'?" With a perfected frown, Alan gestured towards Don's stained T-shirt sleeve, and Don shoved aside his uncertainties and fell into 'cover-up' mode, one he'd perfected for his own use after years of working in, and being injured because of law enforcement. "Oh, that. That's just from when I was practicing with a few of the guys at the gym downtown - we were working on some hand-to-hand, and I accidentally caught a guy in the nose with a left hook." He threw in a sheepish laugh for good measure before finishing the rapidly spun tale. "Knocked him off balance pretty good, and well, he kinda fell into me. Guess I just forgot that was there."

A small flash of guilt lit in his chest at the sympathetic frown his words earned, especially at the trust he saw on their father's face - he trusted him to be telling the truth, while he sat there lying to him about what was one of the most nerve-wracking afternoons of his life. There'd just been so much blood... and the fear in Charlie's eyes, the panic... Don swore he'd much rather deal with being shot at than ever have to see those things in Charlie's eyes _ever again_.

Giving himself a mental shake, Don brought himself out of his thoughts only to start as he realized that Alan was staring right at him, doing an excellent impression of Larry in how intently he was studying him... like he was part of some test that he was anxiously awaiting the result of. He swallowed down his instinctive nervousness, feeling much like he had when he was a teenager, and was trying to hide the fact that he'd been out sneaking beers with his friends at the ballpark.

"What?" This time it was Alan who shook himself, forcing himself to look away as he picked his newspaper back up, pretending to read its cover.

"It's nothing, really." He paused a moment, looking thoughtful. "It's just that... I swear, your brother had that exact same look on his face this morning, before he left for Cal Sci." After a moment, he chuckled quietly, and shaking his head at his habit of reading too far into things, Alan missed the frown that flitted across Don's features, looking up a second after it'd disappeared. "So, are you hungry? I've got some leftovers from supper tonight - I set aside some for Charlie already, but you can help yourself to whatever's left."

Don smiled and got up from the couch, headed for the kitchen, glad for the opportunity to walk off the built-up nerves from the encounter, as well as to shake off the fringes of guilt. After all, the lie wasn't an unforgivable one, nor was it anything entirely life-threatening either - sure, it had been scary as hell when it was actually happening, but it was over now, and the problem had been quickly and easily dealt with, with Charlie on the road to a full, and risk-free recovery... so long as he followed the doctor's orders, which Don fully intended to see to it that he did.

"Thanks Dad, I'm starved - didn't really get much of a chance to stop for lunch today," he called over his shoulder, before pushing open the kitchen door and heading right for the fridge. Alan joined him a moment later, opening the fridge a second after he'd closed it.

"Before I forget, I'm going to put his plate on a tray in the oven, for him to heat up when he gets back, however late that may be. Don't ask me why, but for some reason that boy's got it in his head that it's better for you to use the microwave as little as possible... I'm sure he must've explained it at one point, but I can't for the life of me remember what he said."

Having just popped his own food into said microwave, Don shrugged and started up the heat before realizing it might be a good idea to fill the other man in on the fact that Charlie was in reality already there.

_Just gotta do a little rephrasing for how he got here... Choose your words carefully, Eppes._

"Actually, speaking of Charlie, I, uh... gave him a ride home already. He was pretty beat... I think he went straight upstairs to grab a shower, or something, to unwind a little." Alan glanced over at him in mild surprise.

"Oh? Why did he need a ride home? His car didn't get stolen, did it?"

"Nah, nothing like that - I just dropped by his office to say 'hi', and I offered him a lift, seeing as I was heading back here anyways."

The small lie came easily, and seemed to be accepted without question as a smile lit up Alan's face, obvious pleasure showing through at the prospect of his sons' relationship continuing on its upward slope.

"In that case, I'll heat this up for him right away so that he can have it when he's finished," he said lightly, sliding the plate-holding tray into the oven, and turning the dial to the lowest setting.

"I'll go let him know," Don said, already headed for the stairs. It wasn't as though it was pertinent for him to tell Charlie about his dinner right away - rather, it was rather important for Charlie to know the small details of the story he'd cooked up for their father, should the topic come up at some point that night.

Jogging up the steps, it wasn't long before he was in front of his brother's half-closed door, and he knocked lightly before pushing it the rest of the way open. By the dim light of the small lamp on Charlie's night stand, Don saw that Charlie was sitting at the end of his bed, slightly bent at the waist with one hand braced on his knee and the other pressed against the side of his head, his eyes closed. Not wanting to let on that the sight had his stomach flipping after what happened earlier, he strode calmly over to his brother's side, laying his hand gently on his shoulder.

"Hey, you okay? Charlie?" Slowly Charlie nodded, one eye cracking open to look up at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine - just got a small dose of some heavy-duty head rush, that's all." Glancing between both of Charlie's hands, and his hunched posture, Don raised a brow, his voice sharing his skepticism.

"Uh-huh, sure, you're fine." He waited until Charlie seemed a little steadier before continuing. "You think you can make it back downstairs for a little while? As soon as Dad found out you were here, he started heating up some supper for you." This earned him a sharp look, and he was quick to answer the unspoken demand. "Don't worry, he doesn't know anything. I just told him I stopped by your office, and offered you a ride home, simple as that."

Clearly relieved, Charlie accepted the hand up that he was offered, pulling himself carefully up to his feet, and not objecting to the steadying, protective arm that Don kept draped over his shoulders, all the way until right before they wandered into the kitchen. Both were hustled into seats at the table, where full plates were set down in front of them both, and Charlie was careful to smile thankfully, and eat almost all of the food on the plate, despite the fact that he had virtually no appetite whatsoever. Though it was hard to ignore the not-so-subtle glances that Don kept tossing his way, Charlie simply wasn't up for trying to work the words 'Knock it off, I'm fine' into a glare, and so kept his eyes either on his father or on his plate the entire time.

After the short meal, he said his goodnights and retreated back upstairs to his room, all but collapsing onto his bed once he'd closed the door, already dressed in the clean T-shirt and sweats he'd changed into from his blood-dotted clothes. Snagging his shirt, which he had dropped on the foot of his bed, he studied the dark spatters for a long moment by lamplight, brushing his fingers over the grisly reminders of the terrifying moment he already wished he could forget.

What he remembered most was the thought that had jumped immediately into his mind when the bleeding had worsened, rapidly draining all of his energy: _The doctor was wrong... I hardly have any time left at all - I really am dying, and there's nothing I can do to stop it_.

He realized now that it had been a totally irrational thought, that bleeding that excessively, while not a good sign, was simply another symptom of his disease, and that he had to come to terms with the fact that it would not be the last of its kind, not by a long shot.

With that thought unfortunately solid in his mind, he tossed the shirt into the corner of his room with the intentions of throwing it away the next day, and he turned off his lamp, letting his exhaustion pull him back under once more.


End file.
